


love in the time of quarantine

by politicalmamaduck



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Dream Sex, F/M, Inspired by Real Events, No Pregnancy, Quarantine, Safe to Read if You're Triggered by Pregnancy, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politicalmamaduck/pseuds/politicalmamaduck
Summary: Hera Syndulla and Grand Admiral Thrawn are stuck in quarantine together.
Relationships: Hera Syndulla/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 45





	love in the time of quarantine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onstraysod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onstraysod/gifts).



> Written for my dear friend arcticelves on Tumblr. Her prompt was Thrawn and Hera in quarantine together. I hope you will like this!

It was bad enough being trapped in quarantine on a lonely planet without her squadron. 

But being trapped with Grand Admiral Thrawn as her only companion was enough to make her want to wring someone’s neck with her lekku.

He was so smug. And infuriating. And… blue.

Hera had to keep reminding herself that should it come to that, they would receive the best possible medical care. Carosi XII was a sparsely populated planet, but a safe one, home to some of the greatest medical academies in the galaxy. 

If there were a cure for the virus currently spreading across the galaxy, the Carosites were sure to develop it. And if Thrawn and Hera contracted the virus as they feared, they would be treated with the utmost care and attention. 

Still, Hera longed for Kanan, Ezra, Sabine, Zeb, and Chopper. They were her crew, her family, her home. 

She felt as though the Grand Admiral were constantly assessing her, analyzing her strengths and weaknesses. His eyes seemed to see through her, right down to her very soul. 

So then it was perhaps not altogether surprising when he started a conversation with her after a few days of near silence in quarantine. 

“You have a great capacity for love, Hera Syndulla,” he remarked while they sipped an herbal Gatalentan tea. 

“What makes you say that?” Hera asked in response, sharply looking up from her mug. Her lekku quivered, pointing towards the Grand Admiral as if in accusation. 

“Your love for your family and your heritage was evident to me from the first, when we met on Ryloth. It has only become more apparent to me, having studied the Rebellion and your team in particular. And now, having the opportunity to observe you in close proximity these past few days, it is more apparent to me than ever. Your rebellion is built not just on hope, but also on love, and this is why the Empire continues to fail. Cultures rise and fall. I have studied them through their art. Aspirations and hopes are ever evident. Changes in style over time can demonstrate much of history. But you and your rebels are a constant. Your strategies may change, but your hearts do not.”

Hera took another sip of her tea, and nodded at Thrawn. 

“You’re right. There is no love in your Empire. You fail to offer your citizens hope for a brighter future. We will not give up, and this is why you will lose in the end.”

In turn, Thrawn nodded at Hera, accepting her critique and her words. 

“Is there no one that you love?” she found herself asking, despite her better judgement. Perhaps this quarantine could be an opportunity to assess the Grand Admiral’s weaknesses, much as he seemed to be doing to her. She already knew of his vast arrogance and over-confidence. 

“Love is a difficult emotion,” he said, placing a hand on his chin as if in deep thought. “Many cultures describe it differently; it appears in various ways in every art medium, style, across the galaxy. My people value loyalty and dedication to our society. Perhaps some would call this love. There are many individuals with whom I have served whose lives I value, who I would trust with my own life. Perhaps some would also call this love. I would sacrifice my own life to save the  _ ozyly-esehembo _ who guide my people through the stars.”

He paused, as if allowing his words time to register, to allow Hera to process what he was saying, despite the unfamiliar term and her lack of knowledge of his own people. 

“Is this love, Hera Syndulla?” His eyes met hers. For once, she did not read arrogance or military precision in them, but rather an earnestness that caught her off guard. 

She found herself wanting to reach out to him, to take his hand in her own across the table, and tell him that she wished for him to find a lover, a partner someday, for him to escape the Empire’s clutches and either join them in the Rebellion or return to his own people or build his own life of his choosing. 

But she chose to say none of those things, instead sipping her tea thoughtfully. 

“Yes,” she answered. “I would say that is love.”

He nodded at her once more, and they went back to sipping their tea in silence.

It was the next day that the fever and chills set in, and there would be no sitting at the table in their shared quarters, conversing while sipping tea. 

Hera became confined to her bed, a Carosite nurse mopping her brow and checking her vitals on a regular schedule. She felt as though a shipping container sat on her chest; even thanking her nurse became painful. She was vaguely aware that she was dehydrated despite the intravenous fluids with which they were supplying her. 

In her exhaustion and illness she slept fitfully, knowing she needed to recover her strength. She had no energy left to curse being in the situation to begin with, her mission failing, having been foiled by Thrawn. And then they both had to quarantine together, the local authorities having found them together, exposed to the plague of a virus that had locked several planets down. The authorities on Abednedo sent them to Carosi XII just in time. 

And here she was, laying in a hospital bed, dreaming of her enemy’s cool skin touching hers. 

Hera was on fire, her heart beating wildly, desperate for a refreshing touch. Whether this was the virus or her dreams, she could not say. Not that she could speak at all, so parched was her throat. 

But she gasped and moaned in her mind.

She dreamed--imagined--felt him pressing a kiss to her temple, stroking her lekku, making her toes curl in delight. 

His lips were soft, though his muscles were firm, unyielding, just like him. But she would make him yield to her. 

They kissed and entwined, his hands so deft and capable--truly an artist’s touch. He took one of her lekku into his mouth and she howled in delight and pleasure, his fingers coaxing at her lips, the sensations altogether too much to bear. 

He entered her, holding her to him closely, their breathing heavy and as one as their bodies moved together, perfectly in sync, fitting together as if they were always meant to be joined in love’s embrace. 

Hera awoke days or hours later. She felt empty, bereft to find herself alone in her hospital bed. Her sheets and skin were damp with sweat. But her right hand was cool. And comforted. 

Thrawn sat, sound asleep, in a chair next to her bed, holding her hand. 

Perhaps they both had a capacity for love.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated. You can find me on Tumblr and Twitter as well.


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